


Chasing Waves

by 99runecrafting



Category: The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Characters are slightly aged up, Coming of Age, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gabe Clem Duck and Sarah are all in their senior year of high school, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-12-10 03:38:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11683224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/99runecrafting/pseuds/99runecrafting
Summary: Clementine chuckles before asking, “So, what’s the verdict?”Gabe meets her gaze and nods. “I’m in.”--OR: Wanting to escape his dad’s expectation of joining the army after graduation, Gabriel Garcia stumbles across his opportunity in the form of the annual National History Bowl Championship.





	1. Global Warming

Of course.

Of fucking course Kate would tell him Mari’s ballet lessons ends at 5:00, not 5:30.

Gabe turns away from the reception desk with an exasperated sigh. As annoyed as he is, Gabe admits to himself that maybe he does run on Hispanic time. Consistently showing up to school fifteen minutes late for the past three years is an achievement his dad and Kate like to remind him on the daily. Given his track record of punctuality, he admits Kate made a smart move.

However, Kate had underestimated how eager Gabe still is to take the beat-up car he affectionately calls “Sexerella” (or “The Gabemobile” around his family) out for a spin. He had worked at Howe’s since the beginning of the year to save up for it -- a beige sedan older than he is that sports a few shallow dents. His old neighbour Pete offered her for $800 cash. Dad even inspected the car and commended on her well-maintained condition, given her old-ish age. Only the brake pads needed replacing.

Gabe considers grabbing an ice cream cone and waiting out the next thirty minutes at a nearby McDonalds, but gas is expensive and Gabe isn’t exactly balling, okay? So he plops down on the bench in front of the dance studio and prays there’s wifi. But before Gabe pulls his phone out, he peers into the windows of the studio and his breath catches in his throat.

Of all the people he expected to see today, Gabe definitely does not expect to see Clementine. Clementine, with the wide amber eyes, the curly hair often tucked under a baseball cap. Clementine, as in the girl he hasn’t maybe completely been _lowkey_ crushing on for the past three years. Clementine, as in his best friend’s adopted sister who is not only totally  _out of his league_ , but also probably off-limits.

(Not that Duck had ever explicitly _stated_ it -- Duck doesn’t even know, for starters. It’d be a cold fucking day in hell before Gabe would ever admit to Duck that he maybe has a thing for Clementine.)

And today, Clementine is helping an older woman (the instructor probably) correct the postures and stances of younger students. He knew she did ballet, from Duck’s offhand comments about dance rehearsals over the years. Gabe internally regrets not tagging along with Duck to her recitals.

Which isn’t weird, right? The Gordon household was essentially his second home, after all. But come to think of it, he had never exchanged more than a handful of sentences at a time with Clementine.

On an average day, Gabe would come upstairs from the basement to grab a glass of water in the kitchen after a grueling match of _Melee_ with Duck (No Items, Fox Only, Final Destination). He’d stammer out a hello to Clementine, who’d normally be studying in the dining room or curled up on the couch with a mug of tea, and then run back downstairs before he could run his mouth and say something stupid like he usually does around cute girls.

He’s only here to fetch Mariana and get back home, easy peasy. Don’t look like a moron. Maybe even say hi to Clementine. But most importantly, don’t look like a moron. _Or a creep._ With that thought, Gabe rips his eyes from Clementine and glues them to his phone.

Browsing on his phone makes the half-hour wait go by smoothly. Students pour out of the door, signalling the end of the lesson. Mari isn’t among them, unsurprisingly. Gabe remembers how excited she was when Kate and Dad finally saved enough to pay for ballet classes.

Sucking in a deep breath, he pushes the studio doors open and suddenly pauses in his tracks. The sound of violins flood the room.

Clementine moves effortlessly across the floor, arms flowing above her and then behind her like a silk banner caught in a gentle breeze. She eases onto one foot and spins on her toes -- once, twice, three times -- then glides into a stance, with her arms reaching in front of her, her leg stretched behind, and her foot high above her head. Gabe is mesmerized.

And the door promptly collides with his face.

He stumbles backward and lands hard on his bum. Gabe instinctively presses his hand to his cheekbone where the door had hit it. It’s tender and smarting like a motherfucker. In that moment, he prays for two things: 1. that the bruise won’t be _too_ obvious, and that 2. no one saw that.

Unfortunately for Gabe, God does not answer prayer number 2.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Gabe looks up to see Clementine standing over him, her eyes wide in surprise and concern. _Great_ , he cringes internally.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Gabe replies as he struggles to his feet. “Hi, Clementine,” he greets her, his face burning in utter embarrassment. _Real fucking smooth, Garcia._

“Hi, Gabe,” Clementine says, brows furrowing in worry. “Are you sure you’re okay? That looked like it really hurt.”

“I’m fine, really,” Gabe refuses to meet her gaze. “Have you seen my sister, Mari, by the way?”

“Gabe!” he hears Mari call out as she rushes to him. “What happened?”

“Accident,” Gabe quickly responds. “Anyways, Kate sent me to pick you up, so,” he adds, “are you ready to go?” Gabe’s just a _little_ desperate to leave. He’ll nurse over his bruised face and bruised ego the moment he gets home.

“Yeah,” Mari replies, nodding.

“Okay,” Gabe says. He stammers, “I, uh, I’ll see you at school next week, Clementine.”

“See you around,” Clementine replies. “You should probably get some ice for that.” She gestures to the bruise starting to form on his cheek.

“I will, thanks,” Gabe answers, absentmindedly scratching the back of his head.

“Okay then,” Clementine says. “I’ll see you next class, Mari.”

Gabe huffs out a sigh when they reach the parking lot. Plan: _Don’t Look Like A Moron_ has crashed and burned miserably. No survivors here.

Mariana snorts.

“What?” Gabe asks.

“That was kind of sad to watch back there,” Mari says lightly.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“The door slamming on your head?” Mari responds. “I saw the whole thing.”

“It was an accident,” Gabe insists.

“You mean how your brain fries itself whenever you’re around a girl?”

“You’re crazy,” Gabe interjects. “It was just an _accident_. And my brain doesn’t fry itself, okay? I know how to act around girls,” he asserts with a thump to his chest. “I’ve had girlfriends before.”

“ _A_ girlfriend,” Mari corrects with a grin, “and that was in middle school? How long did that last again?”

Gabe swats Mari on the arm playfully. “You know, maybe leaving you on the side of the road is a good idea.”

“You wouldn’t,” Mari scoffs.

Gabe rolls his eyes before admitting with a fond sigh, “No, I wouldn’t.” He ruffles her hair wildly. “You’re my little sister, after all. It’s your job to annoy me.”

“Gabe! What the heck!” Mari yelps, ducking away. She combs her hands through her hair with an annoyed huff.

“Don’t fucking swear, Mari,” Gabe lectures, deadpan.

Mari rolls her eyes. “You’re such a dweeb.”

“Love you too,” Gabe teases as he unlocks his car.

“I’m guessing you’re picking me up from ballet from now on?” Mari asks with a smirk as she climbs into the passenger seat.

“Yes,” Gabe adds as he locks in his seatbelt, “but it’s _only_ because Kate asked me to, since I have a car and I’m _pretty_ much an adult now.”

“Riiiiiiight,” Mari singsongs, wiggling her eyebrows.

“You know,” Gabe suggests, “I was thinking of stopping by good ol’ Ronald for some ice cream, but since you’re being mean to me right now…”

“Oh come on,” Mari pleads. “Please? Can we?”

“I don’t know,” Gabe sighs, shrugging. “You really hurt me, Mari.” He dramatically places a hand over his heart and sticks his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout.

“Alright, alright,” Mari concedes with an eyeroll. “I’m sorry, Gabe. Okay?”

“That’s better,” Gabe grins as he backs out of the parking spot. From the corner of his eye, he spots Mari fishing something out of her pocket. “What’s that?”

“It’s Pipo’s,” Mari replies quietly, showing him a portable cassette player.

Gabe nods solemnly. “Pop the cassette tape in.”

Gabe catches a glimpse of the tape’s label: _Mi vida, mi corazón._ He smiles as familiar salsa tunes drift through the car. The wind roars through the rolled down windows and threads through Gabe’s hair. Today, he’d forgone his beanie.

“This is the tape he always plays when he dances with Yaya,” Gabe recalls.

Mari chuckles. “Yeah. It’s his favourite.”

Gabe smiles wider at the fond memory. He used to find it embarrassing when he was younger. In hindsight, it was actually really adorable. Now Gabe would give anything to watch his grandparents dance again. To see Yaya laugh and smile like she did before. Just once more.

“I miss Pipo,” Mari murmurs.

“Me too,” Gabe sighs. “You know,” he changes the subject, “he kept a journal when him and Yaya left Cuba in 1980.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I found it on a shelf at him and Yaya’s house,” Gabe says. “Dad must have been a baby when they left.”

“I wonder what made them leave Cuba,” Mari wonders.

“Cause of some guy named Fidel Castro,” Gabe responds. “He imprisoned and executed a lot of people who were against him. Even people who were _thought_ to be against him.” Gabe grimaces. “I don’t blame them for leaving, it must have been really scary back then.”

“You got that from all documentaries you’ve been watching, haven’t you?” Mari asks.

“I wanted to know all the shit that was going on at the time,” Gabe says with a shrug.

“Books _exist_ , you know,” Mari points out, “and they’re a lot less noisy, too.”

“But do books have moving pictures and explosions?” Gabe replies with a dismissive wave of a hand. “And besides, does it really matter how I learn?” He taps the side of his forehead. “Knowledge is power.

“ _Inglourious Basterds_ doesn’t count,” Mari drawls. “And besides, why would anyone want to know about what a bunch of old guys did years ago? _Boooring_.”

Gabe gasps sharply. “First of all, Quentin Tarantino’s movies are fantastic,” Gabe objects, “and secondly, that was the _only_ history-related thing you actually managed to stay awake for. If you had just stopped falling asleep in the middle of the other _actual_ historical films, I’m sure you would’ve found it interesting.”

“I fell asleep _because_ they were uninteresting,” Mari responds sarcastically.

“Come on,” Gabe says, “how do you not find it interesting at all? How things came to be? Why our family came to the States in the first place? The wars and global events that literally affected everyone? How is _that_ not interesting?!”

“I mean that’s cool, I guess,” Mari remarks, “but it’s just not my cup of tea.”

“Fair enough.”

“Hey,” Mari chuckles, “at least learning some history is more productive than bashing your head on the sidewalk all summer, like you did last year.”

“For the record,” Gabe starts, “I did finally master that kickflip, so it was totally worth.”

 

\---

 

They hear the yelling before they even make it out of the driveway.

Gabe glances at Mari, who winces.

“Just go to your room, okay?” Gabe assures her. Mari nods meekly.

Inhaling deeply, he turns the key and swings the door open.

“Unless you want to dig up my CO’s fucking corpse-”

“David, it was an accident,” Gabe hears Kate plead. She’s clutching her left hand with a towel that’s stained bright red. Pieces of shattered glass lie scattered around the kitchen floor where they’re standing. “Maybe if we can actually afford a dishwasher, this wouldn’t have-”

“Do _not_ start with this again,” his dad roars back, “that is the absolute last thing I need when I come home from work to support _this family_ and pay off Pa’s treatments-”

Gabe retreats to his room, locking the door behind him before flopping onto his bed. He pops his headphones in, selecting a random song on his phone and maxing out the volume until the thundering drums and screeching guitars drown out the world.

He hates it when they get like this. Which is rare to begin with, though, since Kate usually goes along with whatever Dad says. Not that he can blame her, honestly. It’s the easier thing to do.

His phone beeps, shaking Gabe out of his thoughts. A text message from Duck.

_Duck Gordon (6:17 PM):_ _THE END IS NIGH_

Gabe snorts and types out a reply.

_Gabe Garcia (6:18 PM):_ _Wat_

_Duck Gordon (6:18 PM):_ _Senior year starts next week bitchez_

Right. Gabe swallows nervously.

On one hand: fucking _finally._ It wasn’t that high school had been bad. It had just been so… average. He got decent grades, skateboarded with Duck, and generally stayed out of trouble. His high school life, so far at least, is nothing like those melodramatic teen soap operas Mari likes so much. Not that he _wants_ his high school experience to be filled with messy love triangles and skeletons in the closet. But all those movies and TV shows Gabe had seen over the years made high school seem so magical, you know?

On the other hand: he graduates from high school… and then what?

“Not today,” Gabe groans to himself as he sits up on his bed. He’ll cross that bridge when he gets there.

Gabe pulls up his laptop, an outdated thing his uncle Javi passed down to him. He can’t run League of Legends on it anymore (he needed to quit anyway, since it really brought out his temper) and it’s a little laggy, but it still does the job when it came to watching YouTube and scrolling through social media. Gabe decides to finish up on the last hour of this documentary he’s been watching about the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. He pops the disc in the laptop and makes a mental note to drop off the DVD at the library tomorrow, since it’s due that day anyway.

He’s about half an hour in (and close to tears) when a loud knock rattles his door. The doorknob jiggles. “Gabe?” It’s Dad. Gabe instantly flies to the door and opens it.

“Why did you lock your door?” Dad snaps.

“Force of habit,” Gabe replies quietly. “Sorry, I won’t do it again,” he quickly adds.

“Good,” his dad comments curtly as he tiredly runs a hand over his head. Gabe can’t help but notice how even more salt and pepper-y his dad’s hair has become. “I need you to take Kate to the clinic tomorrow morning. Can you do that?”

“Yes, dad,” Gabe answers. He watches his father intently, noting the clenched jaw and the tension in his shoulders. _Don’t set him off again. Just be the obedient son he needs you to be right now,_ Gabe thinks to himself.

“ _Gracias_ , _mijo_ ,” Dad says. “I know I can count on you.” Dad gives him a squeeze on the shoulder before smiling at him fondly. “Look at you, starting your last year of high school next week,” he breathes a deep sigh. “It only seems like yesterday you were running around in your diapers.”

“Now I’ll be graduating,” Gabe replies, smiling back.

“And then you’ll be enlisting, just like your old man.” His dad beams at him proudly.

 _Just like your old man._ The words echo in his head. Gabe’s mouth goes dry. “Of course.” He swallows hard.

He doesn’t remember exactly when Dad started expecting him to join the army. (Since forever maybe?) But Gabe had always went along with it. Although it always fills his heart to see his dad puff his chest out in pride because of him, the thought of inevitably enlisting also fills his stomach with dread.

“By the way,” Dad starts, interrupting Gabe’s train of thought. “What happened to your face?”

Gabe instinctively touches his bruised cheek. “I ran into a door, that’s all.”

“You should get some ice for that, _mijo_ ,” his dad clasps him on the shoulder one last time before turning away. “There’s some soup in the kitchen, too. Don’t stay up too late.”

The kitchen is cold when Gabe steps in. The window is thrown open. The floor is free of glass. A pot sits on the stove. Kate leans on the counter by the window, smoking a cigarette. Her hand is wrapped in gauze, the blood dried to a dark, brownish red.

“There’s some food on the stove,” Kate says before taking another drag of her cigarette.

“Thanks,” Gabe replies as he helps himself to a bowl. “How’s your hand?”

“It’s been better,” Kate mumbles. “Nothing too serious, though. The cut’s not deep and I’ve cleaned it as best as I can.”

“Well,” Gabe begins, “Dad wants me to take you to the clinic tomorrow, so…”

Kate sighs, shrugging. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have someone look at it.”

“We can go before your shift starts,” Gabe suggests. “I’ll drop you off at your work, too.”

A small smile forms on her face. “Thank you, Gabe,” Kate says.

“What happened, earlier?” Gabe asks quietly. “If you don’t mind me asking…”

Kate looks so drained, with her slumped shoulders and shining eyes. “It’s nothing, really. I dropped your dad’s army glass, that’s all.”

Gabe frowns. He knows how important that glass is to Dad. Gabe would be upset too if something sentimental to him broke. But Kate also got hurt, you know? Yelling at her, especially when it was an accident, just… left a bad taste in his mouth.

Kate must have seen the look on his face, because she quickly adds, “Don’t worry about it. Your dad and I talked it out. We apologized. We’re good now.”

Gabe nods, a little wary. “If you say so.”

 

\---

 

Gabe normally likes to sit window-side and towards the back row. Not the very last row, though, where the teacher's voice drowns out into a low, coma-inducing drone and the heat of the afternoon sun entices sleep. And not the very front row either, where the teacher can watch your every move.

Except today, Gabe slides into a desk at the front row and lets out a nervous breath. Sitting at the front of the classroom naturally makes you more attentive (at least, according to a few internet articles). After all, AP World History may be his last class of the day, but it’s his first Advanced Placement class, _ever._ Sure, Gabe isn’t a terrible student. But he’s not exactly top-of-the-class material -- just enough to make Dad and Kate happy. And besides, he’d also been in an Honors class before (in freshman year). It can’t be all that different, right?

Gabe watches as students enter the classroom and immediately recognizes most of them as the top-of-the-honor-roll types: those who’ve been taking AP classes since sophomore year (and even freshmen, for some of them), whose sights set high for Ivy League. His stomach sinks a little.

His mouth goes dry and his stomach knots when Clementine enters the classroom. No _duh_ she’d be in this class. Gabe always saw her name on the honor roll, and knows how often she studies, as it was the one activity she was always doing every time he would be at Duck’s house. Plan: _Don’t Look (Even More) Like A Moron_ is officially back in motion. _This is going to be a long-ass year,_ Gabe internally grumbles to himself.

“Hello, class,” Mr. Everett greets as he begins to pass around the course outlines. “Welcome to AP World History. As you know, this class is equivalent to an introductory college course.”

Gabe swallows nervously. Mr. Everett does the roll call before briefly explaining the basics of AP tests and scoring. Gabe follows along, jotting down important information.

“A common theme you’ll notice throughout the course is that no matter the era or the civilization,” Mr. Everett scrawls the next words he says on the chalkboard, “there is always war and conflict.” He underlines the words, further emphasizing them.

“Instead of just talking about the syllabus today,” Mr. Everett turns to the class, dusting his hands of chalk, “I’d like to start off this year with a discussion.”

Mr. Everett returns to the chalkboard and writes in all capitals: IS WAR JUSTIFIABLE?

Every hand in the room shoots up.

Gabe notices that most of the answers his classmates give are a variation of _Sometimes._ Not that it was wrong or anything -- everyone has a right to their opinion, after all. But Gabe’s sweating as he mentally prepares himself, running through the points he wants to make and recalling the facts he’s learned from the documentaries he watched.

“Gabriel?” Mr. Everett’s voice pierces through the fog of his nervousness.

“Yes,” Gabe stands in his desk and clears his throat. “Right, um. I don’t think war is justified. _Ever._ ”

The classroom immediately breaks into a buzz.

Mr. Everett shushes the class before he turns back to Gabe. “And why do you think that?”

“Because,” Gabe begins, suddenly feeling every eye on him. He inhales a deep breath before saying, “it’s just not right that the people at the top can declare war while everyone else pays the price. While _innocent_ people pay the price.”

“Pretty sure the people who enlisted knew what they were signing up for,” pipes up a classmate. A few stifled giggles erupt behind him.

“That’s not what I meant,” Gabe bites back. He clenches his hands into fists to still them from shaking before he continues, “I meant like, men, women, and children who never asked for war, whose homes were invaded. People who were killed because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time, like Hiroshima and Nagasaki.”

“Well, it was because Japan refused to surrender,” another classmate challenges. “More people would’ve suffered and died if America had invaded Japan instead. Would you rather lose millions of lives or just several thousand?”

“ _Two hundred thousand_ ,” Gabe corrects, blood pounding in his ears. “War is more than just a numbers game. Sacrifice two hundred thousand people to save more? Okay _sure_ , but two hundred thousand people still died, you know? And most of them were just regular old folks minding their own business when the bombs hit. They didn’t deserve to die. Life is precious but life is irreplaceable too. The lives that were saved because of the bombings aren’t replacements for the lives that were lost.”

“So what,” someone responds, “countries should just do nothing then, like how Britain dealt with Hitler in the late 1930s? Should people just stand by and do nothing while something like the Holocaust happens?”

Gabe goes silent, brows furrowing in thought. When he meets the gaze of his challenger, he’s greeted by their smug, triumphant expression. “No,” Gabe finally admits, grudgingly.

“So then doesn’t that make war justifiable?”

“I’m not _saying_ that countries should _do nothing,_ ” Gabe declares, his blood boiling. “But war often comes with war crimes, too. Both the Allies and the Axis raped thousands of women. Both sides bombed each other’s cities -- cities filled with innocent civilians. Cities like Hiroshima and Nagasaki. I think countries _should_ step in and stop things like the Holocaust from ever happening. But even if the cause you’re fighting for is good, raping and killing innocent people _isn’t._ And _that_ is never justifiable.”

The bell rings, a sudden shrill noise that startles Gabe out of his thoughts.

“All right, I’ll see you all tomorrow then,” Mr. Everett says to the class. “You all have a good day. Gabriel, can I see you for a moment?”

When Gabe is done packing his things, he makes his way to Mr. Everett’s desk. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Everett?”

“Yes,” Mr. Everett says, nodding. “I just wanted to commend you on what you said in our class discussion.”

“Oh,” Gabe responds, scratching the back of his head. “Thanks.”

“Have you ever heard of the principle of _ahimsa?”_ Mr. Everett asks.

Gabe shakes his head.

Mr. Everett raises his eyebrows. “I’m surprised, because a lot of what you said reminds me of that. We’ll actually be touching on it in the course. But anyways, _ahimsa_ is an important principle in Hinduism, Jainism, and Buddhism. It means to not harm. Non-violence. _Ahimsa_ has greatly influenced theories of war and military ethics, and was also central to the independence movement of India.”

“The one with Gandhi, right?” Gabe faintly recalls from previous social studies classes.

Mr. Everett nods. “All forms of resistance against the British Empire were non-violent and it actually worked, as India finally achieved their independence in 1947. In fact, it worked so well that it influenced the Civil Rights Movement right here at home.”

Gabe nods thoughtfully. “Huh, no way.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Everett says. “Well, I also wanted to talk to you about joining our History Bowl team. I really think you’d make a great addition, and I’m not saying that just because I’m the sponsor teacher.”

 _History Bowl._ Gabe had heard of that before -- isn’t that some kind of _Jeopardy_ for history or whatever? Where a bunch of Ivy League types from different schools gather round and flex their knowledge or some shit? Gabe is certainly _not_ Ivy League level, and the idea of being stuck in a whole room of them… ok well, he _is_ in AP World History. But still. Gabe’s about as average as you can get, honestly. And besides, who wants to study for _fun?_ He’s got enough classes to worry about.

Mr. Everett must have read his mind or something, because he says, “I know it’s not as glamorous as the football team, but I really do think you’d be great at it. At least consider?”

“Thanks,” Gabe replies a little sheepishly. “I’ll think about it.”

“Great,” Mr. Everett says, “You have a good day then, Gabriel.”

“You too,” Gabe replies as he leaves the classroom.

 

\---

 

Gabe spots his uncle sitting on the porch as he approaches his house. A worn box sits next to him. “Hey, Javi. What are you doing here?”

“Hey, buddy,” Javi says. “I was hoping Kate would be here. I’ve got a package to drop off.” He gestures to the box.

“How long have you been waiting?” Gabe asks. “And what’s that?”

“Just ten minutes, no biggie,” Javi replies, grinning, “and these are your _abuelo_ ’ _s_ cassette tapes.”

“You have his cassette tapes?” Gabe questions.

“Just some of it.” Javi says. “I hear music really helps with memory. Maybe your dad can take them with him when he visits your _abuelo_.”

Gabe peers into the box. Cassette tapes stack on top of each other, almost spilling over the brim. “Those are… a _lot_ of tapes.” He turns to Javi and quietly asks, “Why don’t you go with my dad?”

Javi looks away, scratching the back of his head. “I love your dad,” he sighs. “He is my brother, after all. We just… don’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of things.” His gaze rests on the box. “Let’s just say your dad doesn’t agree with how I’m… processing all of this.”

“Was that what it was about?” Gabe mumbles, studying his uncle’s face. “You know. Two weeks ago, at Yaya and Pipo’s house?” He recalls the yelling being so loud from he could hear it from the backyard. His _abuela_ crying, pleading with them to stop. A door slam that seemed to shake the walls and the air around them. A loud tire screech. Javi nowhere to be found after. His dad dark-eyed and tense and silent for the rest of the night.

“Sort of, yeah,” Javi answers, quietly.

Gabe decides to change the subject. “So why does Pipo have a lot of cassettes?”

Javi smiles, eyes tinged with fondness and melancholy. “He made a mix for every event,” Javi sighs. “Like, _every event._ Not even just for milestones and holidays, but for days when it rained, when the sun shined. I think he has a whole tape dedicated to _cafecito._ ” Javi shakes his head, chuckling. “Freaking _obsessed_.”

“More than dominoes?” Gabe asks, almost astounded.

“More than dominoes,” Javi affirms. “That man really loves music.”

Gabe chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, since Kate’s out, I can let you in and you can put it on the coffee table or something.”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

Gabe unlocks the front door and steps inside. He plops his backpack on the floor of his bedroom and double checks his pockets to ensure his wallet, phone, and keys are still with him before heading back towards the door.

“By the way, I need to pick up Mari from school and drop her off to ballet,” Gabe says to his uncle. “Do you need me to drive you back to your place?”

“No I’m good, my car’s just down the street,” Javi responds. "Actually, is it okay if I tag along? I feel like it’s been ages since I really spent some time with you guys.”

“I hope my dad won’t mind,” Gabe wonders hesitantly.

“I hope not,” Javi says, sighing. “Listen, no matter what’s going on between me and your dad, we’re still family.” Javi then playfully nudges him in the shoulder. “Now come on, I’ll treat you and Mari to McDonalds.”

Gabe grins. “You sure you want to wait out until Mari’s lessons are over, though?”

Javi cocks an eyebrow up. “You’re gonna wait out the whole hour?”

“Hour and a half,” Gabe corrects. “Plus, it’s kind of a waste of gas to keep driving back between home and the studio. Global warming, am I right?”

Javi snorts. “Since when did you care about global warming?”

“I always have,” Gabe shoots back, “but especially since I started noticing gas prices, you know?”

“Of course,” Javi says with a laugh.

When Gabe pulls up in front of Mari’s school, she climbs into the backseat and sets her duffel bag of ballet stuff next to her. “Hey uncle Javi,” Mari greets. Gabe feels her nudge at the back of his seat. “Are we heading to the studio _right now?_ ”

“Yup,” Gabe replies.

“But it’s only 3:15, and class starts at 4,” Mari points out, “can’t we wait at a McDonalds or something?”

“Well, Javi is planning to treat us after your lessons anyway,” Gabe responds, “and besides, it’ll be 3:30 by the time we arrive to the studio. You can wait another thirty minutes. Go practice or something.”

“Oh, I see what this is about,” Mari drawls, glaring at him through the rearview mirror before smirking. “You’re just eager to see _Clementine_ , is that right?”

Gabe nearly swerves the car. “What?!” He sputters.

“Who’s Clementine?” Javi asks excitedly.

“No one,” Gabe interjects hastily.

Mari simultaneously answers, “His girlfriend.”

“I don’t have a girlfriend!” Gabe yells, knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel hard.

“She’s the teaching assistant for my class,” Mari says matter-of-factly, completely ignoring Gabe, “She’s _really_ pretty, and she also goes to Gabe’s school. I think she’s also Duck’s sister?”

“Aww,” Javi sings, grinning.

“She’s not my girlfriend!” Gabe yelps indignantly, cheeks flushing.

“Uh-huh,” Mari sarcastically mutters.

“ _Mari_ ,” Gabe hisses, glaring fiercely when they make eye contact through the rearview mirror.

“All right, all right,” Mari grumbles. “I’m sorry, Gabe.”

“Thank you,” Gabe huffs, annoyed. He relaxes his grip on the wheel.

“Clementine is amazing at ballet, though,” Mari says with wonder, “I want to be just as a good of a dancer as she is one day.”

“I believe in you, Mari,” Javi replies, “You can achieve anything you set your mind to.”

“Thanks, Javi,” Mari says, smiling. “Maybe it’s not a bad idea to get some extra practice in,” she admits.

“Told you,” Gabe remarks, and spots Mari rolling her eyes at him through the mirror.

Predictably, Gabe doesn’t see Mari exit the studio when the lesson finishes. Gabe pushes the doors open (and steps through them quickly before they can crash into his head _again_ ).

“Clem, you should come with us,” he hears Mari practically beg, “My uncle, Gabe, and I are going to McDonalds. It’ll be really fun.”

Gabe freezes in his tracks. She’s doing this on purpose, isn’t she? She’s totally shitting him right now. _Seriously, Mari? Wow._

“Gabe!” Mari calls out to him. She’s beaming brightly and sporting puppy dog eyes. He knows that look and sighs internally. Okay, so she’s _definitely_ not trying to mess with him. Somehow, that makes it worse. “Can Clementine come with us? _Pleeeease?_ ”

“Um,” Gabe mumbles, scratching the back of his head. He desperately tries to force down the blush that begins to rise in his face.

Okay. So. It’s not like he _wants_ to say no because honestly? That’s a little dickish. But Plan: _Don’t Look Like A Moron_ failed spectacularly last time and Gabe _definitely_ does not want to risk embarrassing himself in front of her again. He’s not sure if he can survive it.

Before Gabe can reply, Javi calls from behind him, “Of course, of course. The more the merrier.”

“I do have an hour to kill before my shift starts,” Clementine says, shrugging.

Mari beams. “Great! I’ll grab my stuff.”

“You, uh, work with the Gordons, right?” Gabe finally manages to unswallow his tongue and speak. “I can drop you off at the diner before your shift.”

“If it’s any trouble-” Clementine starts.

“It’s not,” Gabe replies sheepishly. “Really, it isn’t. It’s on the way home, anyway.”

Clementine nods gratefully and smiles. “Thanks, Gabe.” Gabe’s heart immediately accelerates. “I’m just gonna pack up and change.”

Gabe nods, his eyes unconsciously following her as she exits the studio. Did she really just smile at him? Was that real? He didn’t imagine it, right? _Holy shit._

“What happened to ‘global warming?’” he hears Javi ask slyly. Gabe doesn’t turn, fearing his face is bright red.

“I’m just being nice,” Gabe asserts defensively.

“If you say so,” Javi casually replies.

 

\---

 

“Please,” Javi begins, “I insist, Clementine. You’re our guest.” The four of them are standing in front of the counter. Gabe hears an exasperated sigh behind him -- another impatient customer, probably. They’ve been holding the line up for only a minute or so. Jeez.

Gabe watches as Clementine hesitantly puts her wallet back into her pocket. “You’re too kind, thank you.”

“No worries,” Javi says before addressing Gabe. “Gabe, why don’t you and Clementine find us a booth? Mari and I will wait for our order.” His uncle’s eyes glint playfully.

“Uh yeah, sure,” Gabe replies. He contemplates maybe killing his uncle as he and Clementine sit down at an empty booth.

“By the way,” Clementine begins, “Good job in the class discussion today.”

Gabe’s eyes widen in surprise. “Oh. Thanks.”

“What made you join AP World History, by the way?” Clementine asks, brows furrowing in curiosity. “Not that I’m saying you’re not smart or anything, but I didn’t think you… well, it’s just that I haven’t seen you in the other AP classes before-”

“I’m not exactly the AP student type, I know,” Gabe admits, nervously laughing.

Clementine chuckles with him. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to ask.”

“It’s okay,” Gabe replies. “I, um, kind of switched into that class last minute, I guess? It was sort of a spur of the moment.”

“Really?” Clementine cocks her head sideway in curiosity.

“Yeah,” Gabe responds. “Well, um, I’ve always liked social studies, and I also watched a lot of history documentaries over the summer. Made me realize how much I liked learning history. So I figured, why not?” He scratches the back of his head absentmindedly as he shrugs. “How about you?”

“I really like history, too,” Clementine replies. “I want to do a minor in History when I go to college, and you know, the AP class would be great for the transfer credits.”

“What are you planning to major in?” Gabe asks.

“Dance,” Clementine answers. “Hopefully at the University of Georgia. They have a pretty good ballet program.”

“That’s great,” Gabe says. “You’ve, uh, been doing ballet for a long time, right?”

“Yeah,” Clementine says, “Since I was 7 or 8. I really love it. But how about you? What are your plans after high school?”

Gabe’s eyebrows rise. He’s caught off guard. “I…” He trails off, lost in thought. What the hell is he supposed to say? “I’m still figuring it out, to be honest,” Gabe finally answers.

“No worries,” Clementine responds. “But if you plan on going to college, you should join the History Bowl team. It’s a great opportunity and looks really good on college applications.”

“Mr. Everett talked to me about that earlier today,” Gabe notes.

“He _is_ the sponsor teacher,” Clementine says. “And this year, I’ve been made captain of the team. We need more members -- one more at least. It’s just me and Sarah now, since Arvo graduated last year.”

“Arvo?” Gabe recalls the familiar name. “You mean that really smart Russian kid? Didn’t he graduate early?”

“Yup,” Clementine sighs loudly. “He also got accepted into MIT’s engineering program.”

“Wow,” Gabe says in awe. “That’s… pretty impressive.”

“It becomes less amazing the more you hear about it,” Clementine drawls. “Arvo never failed to remind me every single week.” Gabe notes the way she rolls her eyes with deliberate annoyance.

“Duck told me he was kind of a dick,” Gabe replies.

“Oh, he definitely was,” Clementine says with a hint of a grin. “Big brain, bigger ego. But because of him, we did get pretty far last year. And this year, I really want to win the National Championships. So,” Clementine pauses, exhaling a deep breath, “I’m asking you to join the team.”

 _“Me?”_ Gabe asks incredulously. “I’m no Arvo, though.” He looks down at the table.

“I’m not asking you to be Arvo,” Clementine replies. “Besides, it’s clear from the discussion today that you’re passionate about history, and you seem to know a lot about it. Give yourself some credit. We’d be lucky to have someone like you on the team.”

Gabe’s heart skips a beat. “I, um…” He trails off, attempting to fight the heat beginning to rise in his face. “Can I think about it, at least?”

“Of course,” Clementine says. “Well, tomorrow is Club Day, and I’ll have a table set up in the atrium during lunch. Come talk to me when you’ve made your decision.”

“Sounds good,” Gabe responds.

“If it helps,” Clementine starts, “the grand prize for the Nationals is a scholarship. Divided among the teammates, of course.”

“Really?” Gabe asks with a piqued interest.

“Yeah,” Clementine says, “it’s a pretty decent amount. But I think you have to use it within a year before it expires.”

Gabe hums and nods thoughtfully. “I’ll let you know tomorrow?” He asks.

“Sure thing,” Clementine replies.

 

\---

 

Gabe is in the living room watching TV when he hears the keys turn and the front door unlock. His dad steps through. Gabe quickly checks the time on his phone. It’s nearly 10:00 PM.

“Hi dad,” Gabe greets him. “Long day at work?”

His dad nods. The exhaustion is apparent on his face. “Yes, _mijo._ Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“Yeah,” Gabe answers. “Kate put the food in the fridge, by the way.”

Dad suddenly pauses. “What’s this?” he asks, pointing to the box on the coffee table.

“Javi came by earlier today,” Gabe tells him. “He dropped off a box of Pipo’s tapes.”

His dad frowns slightly, brows furrowing as he chews on his cheek. “Okay,” his dad comments quietly. “Anyways. Come sit with me,” he invites him. Gabe nods, and follows his dad into the kitchen.

“How was your first day of classes?” His dad asks as he opens the fridge.

“It was good,” Gabe replies as he reaches into the cupboard to grab a plate for his dad. “We just got our lockers and course outlines, that’s all. Real lessons start tomorrow.” He sets the plate on the dining table. “But we did have a class discussion in AP World History today.

“An AP class?” His dad notes. “You know, it doesn’t really matter what kind of grades you get. As long as you have a high school diploma, the military will accept you just fine.” He shrugs dismissively.

“I just wanted to take it this year,” Gabe asserts quietly.

“Okay,” Dad responds. “What did you talk about in class?”

“Whether war is justifiable or not,” Gabe answers. “A lot of the class said it was justifiable sometimes.”

“But what did you say?” His dad asks.

Gabe immediately regrets bringing up AP World History. “I said it wasn’t justifiable,” Gabe murmurs. He studies his dad’s face, trying to decipher the unreadable expression he now wears.

“Why?” Dad says with an eyebrow raised. “Sometimes we have to fight back when bad guys threaten the rights and lives of other people.”

“I guess,” Gabe says uncertainly. “I was talking more along the lines of, um, war crimes. Like murdering and raping innocent people. Stuff like that.”

“That doesn’t really happen anymore, _mijo_ ,” his dad says pointedly. “There are international laws that stop that from happening now, don’t you know that?” His dad lets out a harsh sigh before taking a bite of his food. Gabe winces slightly.

“I know. I just, I don’t know,” Gabe mumbles, shifting his gaze down. “I was just offering another view. That’s all.” He half-lies.

His dad only nods and continues to pick at his food. Gabe takes his leave and heads to his room.

He shuts the door behind him quietly and sits on his bed, lost in thought. Gabe had been on fire earlier today, adrenaline pumping and blood boiling and thinking on his feet. He had a lot to say in class, but all the points he wanted to repeat to his dad seemed to just… evaporated from his head or something.

 _I’m just tired,_ Gabe justifies to himself. _And Dad’s tired too. A debate is the last thing he needs._

Though, Gabe really did enjoy the class discussion today. He normally hates debates -- Gabe usually never knows enough to effectively participate, and he hates how tongue-tied he  can get. Except today, Gabe actually _did_ know enough, for once. There was something incredibly satisfying about being able to prove your points with cold, hard facts. Like a perfect one-two punch. And damn, did it _feel good._

Maybe joining the History Bowl team isn’t a terrible idea. Sure, it’s not quite the same as debating morals and whatever like they did in class today. But Gabe has always found his history and social studies classes so much more _interesting_ than his science classes. He liked learning about important events that happened, and how and why they still affect people today. It always intrigued him.

And besides, Clementine _did_ mention the scholarship grand prize. If they win Nationals, then he’d have no choice _but_ to attend college. Dad would understand. He would see. Surely.

 _But_ _I’m nothing like Arvo,_ Gabe admits to himself internally. Winning Nationals sure as hell isn’t a guarantee. It’s a slim chance, especially with the likes of someone like himself. _Someone like me,_ Gabe thinks. He is… painfully average.

But, he has to try, right? Taking a chance can’t hurt. It’s not like it’s totally hopeless -- Clementine mentioned Sarah was on the team too. And they’re both _really_ smart. He’s not on their level, sure, but Gabe can compensate with a lot of work and effort. _Winning Nationals is definitely possible,_ he decides.

Dad will understand. Dad will see.

 

\---

 

Gabe pushes through the crowd of students, his mood slightly souring with every shove of a shoulder. Just when he’s had enough and considers charging through the swarm like a bull on the loose, Gabe stumbles into empty space.

He spots a simple poster ( _HISTORY BOWL CLUB_ , it reads) hanging down the front of the table. Clementine and Sarah sit behind, chatting.

“Hey,” Gabe calls out breathlessly, giving a small wave to Clementine. She waves back. He approaches their table.

“Woah there, you’re gonna have to wait in line,” Clementine says sarcastically, gesturing to the considerable lack of students around them.

A grin plays on his lips. “Hilarious,” Gabe replies with equal sarcasm.

Clementine chuckles before asking, “So, what’s verdict?”

Gabe meets her gaze and nods. “I’m in.”


	2. Team

_It’s some time in the middle of the night -- or really early morning -- when Gabe wakes up and wanders into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. He finds his dad pacing around, running one hand through his hair like he usually does when he’s agitated. The other hand presses his phone to his ear._

_“You’ve called 9-1-1 already, yes?” Dad nods, humming. “Okay._ Mamá, _I’m going to call Javi. We’ll take separate cars and drive around. He can’t be too far. We’re going to find him, okay?_ Mamá _,_ please _get some sleep. Everything is going to be fine. We’re going to find him. He’s going to be okay._ Te quiero.”

_Dad hangs up and breathes a deep sigh._

_“Dad?” Gabe mumbles, his voice still hoarse from sleep._

_His dad turns around, startled. “Gabe? What are you doing up so late?”_

_“I just woke up,” Gabe replies. He rubs the sleepiness from his eyes and squints in the dim light. Light sheen of sweat reflects off his dad’s forehead. His jaw is clenched tightly. “Is everything okay? What’s going on?” Gabe asks._

_“Your_ abuelo… _” Dad pauses and inhales before continuing. “He’s gone.”_

_Gabe is instantly awake. A pang of dread hits his stomach. He swallows hard. “Gone? What do you mean, ‘gone?’”_

_“We don’t know where he is,” his dad clarifies. “Your_ abuela _woke up and he wasn’t in the house. She found the front door wide open, but nothing’s been taken. No signs of forced entry. But it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” For a moment, he wonders if his dad is repeating those words more for himself rather than for Gabe. “I think your_ abuelo _might have wandered off.”_

_“Wandered off?”_

_His dad looks down, folding his arms across his chest. Gabe swears his dad’s eyes are shinier now than a few seconds ago. “We took him to the doctor a few days ago. He has Alzheimer’s disease,_ mijo _.”_

_Gabe nods slowly. It’s strange -- the news didn’t exactly surprise nor shock him. But to hear the words from his dad’s mouth -- to hear a confirmation, a name to all the signs Gabe had sort of picked up over the years -- settled his stomach with dread. Gabe can’t pinpoint exactly when he started to notice, but Pipo had definitely become a little more withdrawn and quiet over the years -- which, at first, Gabe had thought it to be increasing tiredness because, you know. Old people things. There were also times he’d be talking to Pipo, and Pipo would ask how his day was... again. Or repeat the same sentence right after saying it. It didn’t happen too often, so Gabe had merely shrugged it off and chalked it up to occasional forgetfulness, because God knows he forgets his own name around attractive girls sometimes._

_But his internal alarm sounded some time ago in the recent past, when Pipo had accused Gabe of stealing his watch, even though Gabe was 1. nowhere near his_ abuelo _when his watch disappeared and 2. not exactly a professional thief (he doesn’t even steal anyway?). They later found it sitting in the fridge, on top of a container of leftovers. Gabe remembered the way his dad and his uncle exchanged worried looks that day._

_Dad sighs. “I should have listened to Javi,” he murmurs to himself, “I should have brought Pa to the doctor sooner…” His voice cracks, and for a moment it seems like Dad is about to cry. Gabe panics. What does he do? He’d never seen Dad cry before. Ever. But his dad recovers instantly, with hardened eyes and furrowed brows._

_“Dad…”_

_“We’ve already called and notified the police,” his dad goes on, uninterrupted. “I’m going to call your uncle. You should go back to sleep.”_

_“I can help search,” Gabe offers. He can drive now. It only makes sense -- three men can cover more ground than two. He can help._

_“Your uncle and I are handling this,” Dad replies. “Go back to sleep.”_

_“It’s 4 AM, and I’m already awake-”_

_“-Which is why you need to go back to bed.”_

_“But Dad-”_

_“Do not argue with me on this,_ mijo, _” his dad warns calmly, his voice rumbling low and deep. “Your uncle and I are handling it. End of discussion.”_

_Gabe looks his dad in the eye, and is met with a look of intense determination that Gabe has known all his life. There’s no way he can win this. Gabe slumps his shoulders in defeat. “Fine,” he quietly concedes, and stalks back to his room._

 

\---

 

Gabe balances the box of cassette tapes in his lap. It weighs a lot more than he expects it to. Now that he thinks about it, Gabe definitely remembers seeing more boxes of tapes lying around Yaya and Pipo’s house. He’d honestly never really noticed them, the way you don’t actively notice walls and doors and other fundamental things.

He watches the world outside rush by him, set ablaze by the sunset. Kate has a closing shift, so it’s just him and Mari with Dad today. Gabe glances sideways, sneaking a peek at his dad and finds himself unsurprised at how the bags under his dad’s eyes seem heavier than usual. Gabe knows his dad took an earlier shift so they could all visit Pipo. These visits are important to Dad.

Gabe watches as they pass a perfectly manicured lawn, on top of which sits a familiar sign: _MOONSTAR CARE RESIDENCE._ He knows how much Dad doesn’t like this (“A man belongs with his family,” Dad had always said). But Gabe supposes it must be for the best. It’s clear that Yaya could not longer look after Pipo all by herself, and there was also no way in hell she’d ever leave his side either, so Javi and Dad figured that selling the house would help pay for the nursing home and Pipo’s treatments. When the doors closed for the final time, Gabe had turned his head away and cried silently, mourning the loss of house he’d spent nearly all of his childhood in.

After checking in with reception, they walk to Yaya and Pipo’s suite -- Gabe carries the box of tapes, his dad an old boombox, and Mari a sleek wooden case containing domino tiles. Dad knocks on the door, and Yaya answers. Dad greets her quietly, kissing her on the forehead before entering. Gabe sets down the box to embrace his _abuela._

“You grow more handsome every time I see you.” Yaya squishes his cheeks and plants a kiss on his forehead.

“So he was uglier last time?” Gabe hears Mari pipe up.

 _“Wow.”_ Gabe shoots her a glare. The only thing stopping him from flipping the bird is that fact that their _abuela_ is standing right in front of him.

Yaya clicks her tongue disapprovingly. _“Mija,_ be nice to your brother.” Mari only shrugs before moving to hug her.

Gabe rolls his eyes and picks up the box before stepping inside the room. He finds his _abuelo_ sitting in an armchair. Dad has pulled up a chair beside him, and is speaking softly to him. Gabe watches Pipo, whose arms fold across his chest. His face wears an uncharacteristically sullen look. Pipo occasionally glances at Dad and nods at some of his comments, but the blank look in his eyes indicate his lack of investment in the conversation.

 _Passiveness. Withdrawal. Depression._ Gabe recalls a few of the symptoms from a brief internet article. _This seems wrong,_ Gabe decides, wrong as if the sun had suddenly started rising from the west _._ His Pipo laughed loud and boisterously, and made wry, witty remarks in rapid-fire Spanish. But his laughter and remarks had grown quieter and less frequent over the years. Gabe’s chest twinges, and for a moment he wants nothing but to hug his _abuelo,_ to squeeze him tight and shield him from all of this, somehow.

“Pipo,” Gabe gently interjects. “We brought you your music.”

Pipo looks up at that. Gabe and Mari set up the boombox, and Gabe grabs a random tape from the box. _Discoteca_ reads the label. Vibrant horns and catchy beats soon fill the room. A soft smile grows on Pipo’s face.

“We brought your dominoes too, Pipo,” Mari says. “We can play a game if you want.”

Pipo nods. _“Gracias, mis hijos._ You two never fail to bring me a smile.” His fond smile turns into the familiar, playful smirk Gabe knows and loves about his _abuelo_. “But are you two ready to lose to this old man for the millionth time? You know I’ll always be the Domino Champion of the Garcia clan.”

Mari giggles, beaming. “Pipo, you’re silly!”

Mari’s laughter is so infectious Gabe can’t help but chuckle too. He catches his dad’s gaze, who smiles at him gratefully. Gabe smiles back.

They get back home a lot later than Gabe had expected. Although he managed to complete a good chunk of his reading for his AP World History class back at the Gordons’ house, there’s still a bit left to do. Gabe sets his textbooks and the History Bowl study guide on the dining table and gets to work.

He hears the sound of dial tones coming from the kitchen, and then his dad’s voice saying, “Paul. Hey. It’s David. How are you and Clint?” Gabe is momentarily caught off-guard. Paul, as in his supervisor Paul from work? No, can’t be. _We know too many Pauls,_ Gabe thinks to himself as he mentally runs through a list of Pauls the family knows. _Must be_ _Dr. Paul Lingard._ O _ne of Dad’s friends from the military. The army doctor._

Gabe hears his dad exchange a few pleasantries and bits of small talk over the phone, which he tries to block out as he shifts his focus back to his homework. Gabe manages to concentrate for a few more moments, but his ears can’t help but catch his dad say, “Yes, I’m aware that there’s no known cure. I just… I don’t know, Paul. I need to believe.” A pause. “Paul, I’m fine. I don’t need…” Another pause. “My father is the one who’s suffering, Paul. Not me. But thank you. I appreciate it.”

Gabe decides he can’t concentrate any longer, so he grabs his stuff and heads to his room, plopping down his textbooks and notebooks on his desk before sitting down to continue working on them.

His alarm clock screams like a banshee’s wail straight from the depths of hell. Gabe lifts his head, one side of his face gone completely numb. He hisses, bringing a hand to massage the back of his neck where it twinges painfully. When his vision comes into focus, Gabe notices his notebooks laying strewn before him. A spot of drool on the cover of his textbook.

“You’ve got to me shitting me,” Gabe mutters to himself bitterly as he gets up from his desk, his entire body feeling sore. He groans when he realizes he’s still in his clothes from yesterday. Gabe feels instant relief when he slams the off button of his alarm clock, grateful for the absence of the hellish noise that was just beating him upside the head. Gabe massages his temples, questioning the reason for his existence before grabbing another change of clothes and heading to the bathroom to shower.

Gabe’s hair is still soaked when he dashes out the door (not before pulling on his beanie in hopes of concealing this fact). He pushes fervently on his skateboard, praying the wind will somehow dry his hair by the time he reaches school. When he passes by Duck’s house, Gabe waves to his best friend, who’s sitting on the porch.

Duck waves back, rolling his eyes as he hops on his own skateboard. “Bout time, Garcia.”

“ETA?” Gabe calls out.

“We’ll be five or ten minutes late, maybe?” Duck waves his hand dismissively. “But fashionably late, as always.”

“You know you could always go ahead.”

Duck laughs. “I actually just got of the house by the time you came around.”

Gabe snorts, chuckling. “Yeah, I figured.”

“Wow.”

“Last one who reaches school owes the winner pudding?” Gabe challenges.

“Oh, you’re _on._ But wait -- I gotta film this. _”_ Duck glides toward the curb to step off his skateboard. He fishes his camcorder from his backpack -- a small, handheld model that’s outdated but still got the job done. Gabe remembers the excited flurry of texts Duck had sent him when he finally found an affordable camcorder in good condition that still functioned, dramatically proclaiming a victory after having spent weeks hunting in the local thrift shops.

Gabe has to laugh. “You’re bringing your camera with you now?”

“Yeah, man.” Duck shrugs has he turns on his camcorder. “I reached 20,000 subscribers last night, by the way. This is _defs_ going in my ‘thank you’ montage.”

“Grats.”

“Thanks.” Duck sticks his tongue out and furrows his brows in concentration as he fiddles around with the settings. “Hold on. Damn record button isn’t working again.”

“We’re going to be even more late, now,” Gabe points out.

“Wait wait wait.” Duck rapidly clicks the button. “Okay. I got it now.” Duck points the camcorder towards Gabe. “Say hi.”

Gabe waves at the camera.

“Bout to race my best friend to school,” Duck talks to the camcorder. “The loser owes pudding.”

“I prefer chocolate, by the way,” Gabe comments.

“Jackass,” Duck replies cheekily. “Alright. On my mark. Three, two, one, GO!”

The two friends take off, pushing madly at their skateboards. Maniacal laughter and howling echo down the empty street. Gabe’s going so fast his beanie nearly flies off his head. When he nudges ahead of Duck, Gabe executes a kickflip for the camera.

“Show off!” Duck yells.

Gabe cackles loudly. He savours the feel of the wind rushing at him, the sound of concrete screaming under the wheels of his skateboard, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. No amount of coffee could ever beat this sort of thrill.

The two friends are neck and neck when they approach the school. Gabe leans forward, pushing hastily in hopes of cutting his best friend off, but Duck shouts, “I prefer butterscotch!” before managing to burst past him. Gabe rolls his eyes.

Duck twists around, trying to aim the camcorder towards Gabe when his skateboard suddenly shoots out from under him. Duck tumbles, quickly tucking into a roll with practiced ease. His camcorder, however, launches from his hand and onto the concrete, rolling a few times, bits of plastic and glass flying before the camcorder finally skids to a halt.

“Oh shit,” Gabe swears loudly and immediately rushes to his best friend. “Oh my god, are you okay?” He helps Duck onto his feet. “What a wipeout.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Duck rolls his right shoulder a few times, wincing. “I’ll be fine. That’s gonna leave a bruise though.” His face falls when he spots his camcorder lying a few feet away. _“Fuck.”_ Duck picks up his now smashed-up camcorder, rotating it in his hands to examine the damage. “Lenses cracked. A few parts came off.” He hisses in frustration as he brushes his fingertips over the cracks and edges. “Probably can’t film with this again, but I think I can still download the footage.” Duck groans, shoulders drooping. “Well, that’s one way to start off my morning.”

“I’m really sorry about that,” Gabe replies, frowning.

Duck shrugs him off. “It’s not your fault.” He cradles the camcorder in his hands. “Rest in peace, my child. You served me well.” He sighs. “Wow. I am _so_ bummed out right now.”

“Come on, let’s go inside,” Gabe says. “I’ll get you two cups of pudding, okay?”

“Okay,” Duck mumbles, shoulders still slumping.

Gabe makes good on his promise when lunchtime rolls around, but the two cups of pudding only marginally improve Duck’s mood.

After AP World History ends, Mr. Everett asks Gabe, Clementine, and Sarah to stay behind shortly for a quick History Bowl meeting. Gabe says a quick hello to Clementine and Sarah and situates himself closer to them, as the two girls are already sitting next to each other.

“Hey, is Duck okay?” Clementine asks him. “He seems a little moody today.”

“He broke his camcorder this morning,” Gabe replies. “Fell off his skateboard.”

“Oh no,” Sarah comments, wincing. “He didn’t hurt himself too badly, did he? Because that would really suck.”

“He’ll live,” Gabe says. “A few bruises here and there, but he’ll live. His camera though…” Gabe imitates that sound of an explosion (okay, the camcorder didn’t _exactly_ explode, he knows, but it might as well have considering the damage).

“Poor Duck,” Clementine says, frowning. “He really did love that camera.”

“Yeah, he did,” Gabe replies.

“So…” Sarah begins before excitedly asking, “What did you think about today’s lesson, guys?” She claps her hands together, smiling widely. “Genghis Khan, huh? I mean, I totally don’t condone what he did, you know, with all the killing and stuff. But you’ve got admit it’s kind of impressive, building the largest empire and all.”

“It really is,” Gabe admits. “I’m actually surprised that Genghis Khan was really tolerant of other ethnicities and religions? Especially for someone who’s known for killing _a lot_ of people.”

“Right?!” Sarah replies. “People are so weird. History is so weird.” She sighs fondly. “And so awesome.”

Gabe hums in agreement.

Clementine chuckles. “Nerds.”

Sarah nudges her with her elbow. “Okay, Clem, _captain_ of the _History Bowl_ team.”

“Guilty as charged,” Clementine says, raising her hands in defeat.

“Thanks for waiting, everyone,” Mr. Everett addresses them. “I just wanted to let you all know that we’re a little short on funds this year, so there’s going to be a delay in obtaining this year’s study guide.”

“Will it put us at a disadvantage or something if we don’t have the study guides right away?” Gabe asks.

“It might,” Mr. Everett replies. “Last year’s study guides will do for now, just until we can get ahold of this year’s. There are usually a few questions that get repeated from the year before.”

“Will the annual bake sale be enough?” Clementine inquires.

“I believe so, for the study guide at least. And hopefully for the entry fees for Regionals as well,” Mr. Everett responds.

“What about for traveling and hotel costs for when we get into Nationals? And the entry fees for the tournament?”

A smile plays on Mr. Everett’s lips. “You really want to get into Nationals again, do you?”

“I want to win it this time,” Clementine declares.

“I admire your determination, Clementine,” Mr. Everett says with a chuckle. “We’ll have to see how successful the bake sale will be, but until then we should take one step at a time. We should at least figure out obtaining the study guide before worrying about Nationals.”

“Of course.” Clementine nods. “So when can we start the bake sale?”

“I’ll let you know,” Mr. Everett replies. “First I need to talk to the school administration and book a date. I’ll update you guys when I get to that.”

“Just in case if the bake sale isn’t enough, we can fundraise with chocolates,” Sarah suggests. “They practically sell themselves, especially around the Christmas season.”

Gabe nods to that. “They’re pretty popular. My sister sold five cases of chocolate bars when she was fundraising for her camping trip last year.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Mr. Everett replies. “I also wanted to discuss which specialties I’ll be assigning to each of you.”

Gabe raises an eyebrow. “Specialties?”

“Each of you guys will be in charge of a category, and you pretty much have to know everything about it,” Mr. Everett explains. “There are three categories: Ancient History, 16th to 19th European Century Military History, and 20th Century History.”

“Arvo was always in charge of 16th to 19th European Century Military History,” Clementine says. “Do you mind if you take that category, Gabe?”

“I can do that,” Gabe replies. “How about you guys? Which categories are you taking?”

“Ancient History for me,” Sarah says, “and 20th Century History for Clementine. We’ve been specializing in these categories since we joined the team, so we’ve got pretty good knowledge on them already.”

Gabe sucks in a breath. “Guess I have to catch up to your guys’ level, huh?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sarah says. “Clem and I have come up with some _fantastic_ studying strategies over the years. We’ll help you out. We’re a team.”

Gabe nods, smiling. “Good to know.”

“Thanks for taking that category on, Gabe. Now that we’ve settled our specialities,” Mr. Everett begins, “I also wanted to discuss our weekly meeting time. I understand that Clementine will be organizing some study sessions outside of school hours?”

Clementine nods. “We’re still figuring that out.”

“Let me know once you have,” Mr. Everett says. “Our arrangement last year for our club meetings was lunch hour on Tuesday and Thursday, and after school for an hour at 3:00 on Friday. Is that okay with everyone?”

Everyone nods.

“Wait,” Gabe says, raising his hand. “What’s the difference between the club meetings and the study sessions?”

“The club meetings are to help you guys prepare and get used to the tournament setting,” Mr. Everett replies. “I keep score, and you all get to use the buzzers when you answer the questions. I’ll also update you guys with any important information regarding the upcoming tournaments. We usually also touch base, update each other on our studying progress, and help each other out with studying if need be.”

“And the study sessions are just more for studying,” Clementine adds. “Even though we’re all in charge of different categories, the information usually overlaps, especially with my category and yours. We still need to review and study by ourselves, but the study sessions are really good for quizzing each other and strengthening our knowledge.”

“I see,” Gabe replies.

“Does anyone else have any more questions?” Mr. Everett asks. Everyone shakes their head. “Before I wrap up this meeting, just one more thing-” Mr. Everett hands them each a thick packet of papers, neatly stapled together. “Here are last year’s study guides for your respective categories. Thanks for staying, everyone. I’ll see you all at class tomorrow.”

 

\------

 

“Hellooooo?” Duck waves a hand in front of Gabe’s face. Gabe rears back, blinking. “Earth to Gabe?” They’re in the basement of the Gordons’ house as they usually are after school. The GameCube is up and running ( _vintage and in perfect condition,_ Duck had relayed to Gabe when he bought it off his neighbour, Nick). A bowl of popcorn sits between them on the floor.

“Sorry,” Gabe mumbles. He squints at the TV screen, trying to will in concentration.

 _It’s really happening, it’s really fucking happening,_ has pretty much been the only thought that’s been running through Gabe’s head ever since the meeting ended. Sure, technically nothing has happened yet. But for Gabe, the meeting felt like some kind of first, real grasp on his future. A first step to all the blood, sweat, and tears to come, the calm before the storm. It's one thing to say he's going to join the team, it's another to actually make a _commitment_ to this type of thing. Something flutters in his stomach, but Gabe can’t tell if it’s excitement or fear. On one hand, it’s a chance to finally prove himself to his dad. But on the other -- he _is_ putting all his eggs in one basket, gambling his entire future on the off-chance of winning Nationals. Gabe gulps, his heart nervously drumming in his chest.

Duck pauses the game, sighing as he turns to Gabe. “All right, what’s up?”

Gabe huffs. “What do you mean, ‘what’s up?’”

“This is, like, the fifth game we’ve played,” Duck points out. “I just played Kirby for crying out loud, and you still somehow managed to lose to me.” He raises an eyebrow. “Something wrong with your car? Is _Sexerella_ okay?”

“My car’s fine,” Gabe snaps. “And can you not say that out loud?” _What if Clementine hears?_ are his unspoken thoughts.

“What? _Sexerella?_ ” Duck asks, shooting him a confused look.

Gabe cringes. “Yeah, that. What if your parents hear?” Gabe lies. “What if they think I’m, like, weird or something?”

Duck’s eyebrows raise even higher. “ _You know_ my parents could give two less shits about the name of your car. And you _also_ know that my dad would think it’s hilarious.” Duck sighs, exasperated. “All right. Something’s clearly up.” He glares at him. “ _Spill._ ”

Gabe hates how well his best friend knows him sometimes. He sighs, admitting, “I don’t even know if I want to enlist anymore.”

Duck lets out a low whistle. “But it’s been your plan since like, forever?”

“Yeah, I know,” Gabe replies, frowning. “But it’s never been really _my_ plan though.”

“Damn.” Duck furrows his eyebrows. “Your dad knows?”

Gabe shakes his head.

“Bummer,” Duck responds. “You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Gabe says quietly. “I’m still figuring it out. I’ll be fine.”

Duck nods. “If you say so.” He exits the pause menu and shuts the video game console off. “Wanna go skate? I’m a little tired of winning.”

Gabe snorts. “Ha ha,” he drones in a deadpan manner. “Wish I could, but I have to study.”

“You got that much homework already?”

“I joined AP World History. We’ve been assigned a lot of reading to do already,” Gabe replies. _“And_ I also joined the History Bowl club as well.” He produces his study guide from his backpack. “This is the last year’s study guide for my category, 16th to 19th Century History.”

“So Clementine _did_ manage to convince you,” Duck drawls. “Thank God. _”_ He breathes a sigh of relief.

Gabe feels his cheeks start to burn. “W-What?” Oh shit. Does Duck finally know about his _totally_ lowkey crush on Clementine? _I’m never gonna live this down,_ Gabe thinks as he bids a final farewell to his dignity.

“In case you said no, she was gonna get me to persuade you to join.” Duck shrugs, rolling his eyes. “That girl is too determined for her own good sometimes, lemme tell you.”

Gabe pauses, waiting for the oncoming onslaught of roasts. But Duck only looks at him expectantly. “Right,” Gabe replies after a beat. “Mind if I study here?”

“The dining room upstairs would be better, actually,” Duck suggests. “The lighting here is a little too dim. While you study, _I,”_ Duck points to himself, “am going to edit some videos.”

“Still can’t believe you went viral,” Gabe scoffs.

“What can I say? The people love me and my content,” Duck knowingly states, grinning. The video in question that launched Duck into Internet fame (or infamy, depending on who you asked) was some surreal montage of rapid-cut footage from Spongebob Squarepants overlaid with a mashup of a certain Childish Gambino song and the state anthem of the Soviet Union. Gabe is as much of a meme-loving millennial as the next person, but even Duck’s depth of irony is completely lost on him. Still, Gabe was pretty impressed -- and proud, even -- when he heard of Duck’s overnight rise to fame.

Gabe rolls his eyes playfully. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“I’m the humblest person you know,” Duck replies sarcastically. “What on earth could you be possibly talking about?”

Gabe only shakes his head, chuckling as the two friends climb up the stairs and head separate ways -- Duck to his room, and Gabe towards the dining room. His stomach flips when he spots Clementine at the dining table, slouching over a notebook, her brows furrowed in concentration. “Mind if I join you?” Gabe asks.

“Not at all,” Clementine replies without tearing her eyes away from her notebook.

Gabe pulls up a chair and sits across from her, and begins to scan through the study guide.

“Studying already?” Clementine asks. Gabe looks up and sees her staring at him, amused.

“Aren’t you’re studying too?” Gabe asks in return, pointing to her notebook.

Clementine shakes her head. “Not yet. Just figuring out my schedule so I can coordinate study sessions with you and Sarah -- two or three times a week, hopefully. We usually hold them at the diner, sometimes at the library. When are you free, by the way?”

“I usually work weekend mornings,” Gabe replies. “Occasionally my work calls me in for a closing shift on a weekday. And I also visit my grandpa on Sunday nights. Sometimes more throughout the week, depending on my dad.”

Clementine nods, jotting down in her notebook. “Sounds good. Why don’t you give me your number, so I can contact you and let you know when the next study sessions will be? I’ll give you my number too.” She hands Gabe her phone.

Gabe widens his eyes in surprise as they exchange phones, and types out his name and phone number in the Contacts app. This is probably the first time a girl has asked for his number. _It’s not like she’s hitting on you or anything,_ Gabe reminds himself. Still… this is new. And kinda nice. He snaps a quick selfie and adds it as his contact photo.

They hand each other’s phones back. Gabe checks his Contacts. _Clementine Fitzgerald._ Her phone number. Oh, and she took a selfie too. Okay. Cool cool cool. No doubt, no doubt. It’s not like it’s _really unfair_ how cute she is sometimes...

“Great,” Clementine says, snapping Gabe out of his thoughts. He tears his eyes from his phone as a blush starts to dust his face. “I’ll update you when Sarah lets me know her schedule.”  
  
“You bet,” he croaks.

 

\---

 

There’s about an hour left in his shift when Gabe asks himself for the 20th time why taking the opening shift on a goddamn Saturday morning was a good idea. _I could be sleeping right now,_ Gabe thinks to himself, like he does every Saturday morning. _But gas and cellphone bills don’t pay for themselves._

He yawns surreptitiously and quickly rubs the sleep from his eyes before continuing to scan the items of the customer in front of him. If Gabe so much as paused for a second, Carver would ream his ass out. Something something _productivity_ something something _I ought to take a dime from your check_ yadda yadda. Gabe used to be terrified by his manager (okay he still kind of is, to be honest). But his supervisor Paul had pointed out that it’s illegal to reduce pay that’s already below minimum wage, so Gabe knows his manager is just yapping a bunch of horseshit. But still -- Carver is _not_ the kind of guy you’d want to piss off.

The line of customers dissipates, and Gabe takes a brief moment to glance at the clock for the trillionth time. Gabe sighs to himself and considers grabbing a fourth cup of coffee after his shift when he spots a familiar figure walk through the automatic doors.

“Javi?” Gabe calls out from behind the counter. He waves, and his uncle waves back.

“Gabe!” Javi beams at him. “I didn’t know you were working today.”

“I’m working weekend mornings now,” Gabe replies. “Can’t work as much weekday afternoon and evening shifts like I did in the summer, because of school and all. Anyways, are you looking for something?”

“A picture frame, actually. It’s for a poster I got as a gift to myself.” Javi presents a thin cylinder of rolled up paper in his hand.

“A gift? What’s the occasion?”

Javi pauses, glancing around. “I’m five years sober today,” Javi says quietly and smiles. “I got myself a motivational poster.”

“It doesn’t have a cheesy quote, does it?” Gabe jokingly asks.

Javi shrugs. _“A ship in harbor is safe -- but that is not what ships are built for._ Is that cheesy?”

“It kinda is.” Gabe replies, grinning back. “But I’m glad, Javi.” He’d heard a bit about Javi’s partying antics from back in the day -- back when he still played baseball in the big leagues. Gabe only knows a few bits and pieces, mostly from his dad warning him to never go down that kind of path. “I’m really proud of you. Congratulations.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Javi replies fondly. “That means a lot.”

“Shit. I wish got you a card or something.” Gabe frowns, scratching the back of his head.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s no biggie.”

“This is an important milestone, so it kinda is,” Gabe insists. “Do you have plans later? My shift is ending soon. Let me treat you to lunch, whatever you want -- but that, er, won’t break the bank of a seventeen-year-old?”

Javi chuckles. “No, I don’t have plans. Unless you count hitting the gym and rewatching _Hot Fuzz_ as plans?”

Gabe rolls his eyes playfully. “Amazing.”

“You’re the one who asked if I had plans, kiddo.”

“Fine, fine. But I meant like, if you have plans to celebrate with Pipo and Yaya?” Gabe asks. “Or Dad?” Gabe studies his uncle’s face: blank. Hesitant. “Wait -- do they even know?”

Javi shakes his head. “Honestly, they all have a lot on their plate,” Javi replies, looking away. “I didn’t want to burden them. They’ve got a lot to deal with right now.”

Gabe frowns, before boldly declaring: “Alrighty then. That settles it. Lunch is on me. _And_ I’m getting you a card, too.” He tilts his chin up in determination, crossing his arms over his chest.

Javi smiles at him fondly. “You’re too sweet, Gabe.”

Gabe shrugs, waving his hands dismissively. “Don’t mention it. Anyways, so you were looking for a picture frame?”

“Right.”

“From the top of my head, I know we have some but they’re those small, photograph-sized types.” Gabe scratches his chin thoughtfully. “I can ask my supervisor, he’ll definitely know for sure.” Gabe leads his uncle to the Customer Service Support counter where Paul is standing behind.

“How’s it going, kid?” Paul asks.

“It’s going good,” Gabe replies. “My uncle, Javi, is looking for a poster-sized picture frame. Javi, this is my supervisor, Paul. We also call him Jesus.”

Paul laughs heartily as he shakes Javi’s hand. “Apparently, some of the kids here think I look like Jesus. I really don’t see the resemblance.” Truth be told, Paul resembled more of a hippie straight from those photos of the Vietnam War protests he’d seen in his textbooks -- long, flowing hair (which was styled into a neat bun today) and a full beard. Paul even acted like a hippie too, somewhat, with his kind face and easygoing demeanor. However, Gabe and his coworkers had decided that ‘John Lennon’ just wasn’t as good of a nickname as ‘Jesus.’

Javi’s eyes widen as he chuckles. “I don’t know what Jesus looks like, but if they’re referring to art from the Renaissance or something -- ” he grins, folding his arms over his chest and shifting his weight -- “then I see it.”

Wait.

What?

Paul raises his eyebrows and grins back. “Hilarious.” Gabe swears he spots a blush sweep across his supervisor’s face. “So, do you know the dimensions of the frame you’re looking for?”

“The poster’s eighteen by twenty-four.”

“Well, I can tell you that frames about that size aren’t in stock at the moment. But they’re available to order online through our website if you’d like? I can order it for you right now.”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

“Can he use my discount?” Gabe asks.

“For course, kid,” Paul replies, typing on his keyboard. “He belongs under ‘Friends and Family,’ does he not?” Paul scrunches his eyebrows together in concentration, clicking the mouse a few times before addressing Javi, “So, Javi. Would you like a frame with or without a floating edge?”

“What’s a floating edge?” Javi asks.

Paul explains, “So, you’d have your picture -- or poster, in your case -- right in the center of the mat, which creates a border around the picture. Personally, I think it contrasts beautifully with the picture, especially if the mat is white and the frame is black. But the frame would have to be a little larger than the poster, so it might cost more.”

“You know what, let’s go for that,” Javi replies. “You seem to have a pretty good eye for beauty, and I --” Javi’s eyes sweep up and down Paul -- “like to think I do as well.” He leans on the counter.

Gabe’s jaw drops to the floor. Holy shit. Did a) Gabe just become the _third wheel_ and b) when did his uncle have so much game?!

Paul’s eyes widen and he smiles back, amused. He shoots Javi a similar, sweeping glance. “I guess great minds do think alike.”

 _Help me,_ Gabe internally pleads to no higher power in particular.

Paul clears his throat. “So, um, you can just swipe your card there, and frame will arrive in store at about two days time. Unless you’d like it delivered to you instead?”

“I think I’ll just pick it up from here,” Javi responds as he swipes his credit card into the machine.

“Sounds good. Leave your phone number with us and we’ll let you know when your frame arrives,” Paul says. Gabe notes from the corner of his eye, the slight enthusiasm of his uncle as he jots down his number on a piece of paper and slides it over to Paul. “Well, I hope you enjoy your picture frame. You have a good day,” Paul says before turning to Gabe, “Need anything before I go on my break, kid?”

“I’m good,” Gabe replies.

“Okay, catch you later then.” Paul takes his leave with a wave of a hand.

Gabe turns to his uncle, about to say something when he notices Javi staring after Paul.

“You know,” Gabe begins, “there’s a Bed Bath and Beyond just down the block? I’m sure they have what you’re looking for. Why not just go there instead of waiting for two days to get your frame?”

Javi hums absentmindedly.

“Javi?”

Javi continues to stare.

“Hellooooo?”

Nothing.

“Hey Javi, I murdered a man in cold blood last night.”

“That’s nice, Gabe,” Javi mumbles.

Gabe rolls his eyes. “I know you _like_ him, Javi.”

That finally seems to snap Javi out of it. “Uhhh, I have absolutely _no_ idea what you’re talking about.” Javi scoffs. “You’re crazy.”

Gabe raises an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest. _Oh, this is gonna be fun,_ he can’t help but think. “So you totally didn’t just hit on my supervisor, Paul?”

Javi rolls his eyes. “No, I _didn’t._ ” But a telltale flush across his cheeks indicates otherwise. “I was just being friendly.”

“Yeah, _okay.”_ Gabe smirks. “I mean, I have his number if you want it?” Gabe offers. Javi rolls his eyes at him again. “Don’t roll your eyes at me. You just gave _your_ number to him.”

“So he could call me when my frame arrives, _obviously.”_ Javi glares at him.

“Javi. Come on.” Gabe pats his uncle on the arm. “Let me help you out. I’m kind of the best wingman ever, don’t you know?”

Javi scoffs. “Oh really? Since when?”

“Practically since I was born!” Gabe objects. “I _know_ that when I was like, four or five you’d bring me to the park so all the girls from your school would fawn over you!”

“I _did_ end up dating the head cheerleader in my senior year,” Javi states, shrugging. “But that’s because of my charm and rugged good looks, not because of you.”

“Riiiiiight,” Gabe says sarcastically. “But just admit it: four-year-old me has _definitely_ scored you dates.”

“Okay, you might have,” Javi admits, grinning.

“So are you going to let me wingman you or what?”

“There’s nothing to wingman, Gabe,” Javi replies. “I don’t have a crush on your supervisor, the way you _totally_ don’t have a crush on Clementine.” Now it’s Javi’s turn to smirk.

Gabe raises his eyebrows in surprise, completely caught off guard. “Yeah totally,” he chokes out.

“So it’s not a problem or anything if we, I don’t know, go to the Gordons’ diner for lunch later today?” Javi asks in a suspiciously casual tone of voice.

“It’s not a problem.” Gabe forces a smile, teeth gritting. “At all.” _You snake,_ he adds in his head as he restrains himself from openly glaring at Javi. _Is this Game of Thrones?!_

“Great,” Javi replies, his smile growing wider. “I’ll see you after your shift, then.”

Gabe still gets a card for Javi because he’s not a total asshole, alright? As he drives them to the Gordons’ diner, Gabe prays that Clementine isn’t working today.

And God does not answer this prayer either.

“Hey guys!” Clementine greets them as they enter the diner. She’s sporting an easy smile and an apron around her waist. A few curly strands of her hair escape the low bun she’s wearing today, gracefully framing her face. Gabe has to remind himself to look away. “What brings you here?”

“Gabe here is treating me out for lunch,” Javi answers before Gabe can get a chance to speak. “He didn’t have to, but he really insisted.” He places a hand on Gabe’s shoulder. “I’m lucky to have him as my nephew.”

“Heh,” is the most intelligent thing Gabe can come up with at the moment.

“That’s really sweet.” Clementine offers Gabe a smile that sends his heart racing. “You guys go ahead and find a seat, I’ll be with you shortly.”

Gabe and Javi find an empty booth and sit. “You see, Gabe? _That’s_ wingmanning,” Javi says with a shit-eating grin.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Javi rolls his eyes and snorts. “Okay then.”

Clementine arrives with two menus and glasses of water. “Can I get you guys anything to drink while you look at the menu?”

“Coffee for me, please,” Gabe answers.

“With cream?” Clementine asks.

“Yes please,” Gabe replies. “I’m still not quite awake yet, to be honest.”

“Up early today?”

“Yup. Opening shift.”

“Ah.” Clementine nods. “Where do you work, by the way?”

“At Howe’s Hardware Store, the one near Main Street,” Gabe replies.

“Nice. And how about you, Javi?”

“Just some cold water would be fine,” Javi responds.

“Sounds good. I’ll be right back with your drinks.” Clementine walks away to retrieve their drinks.

“How’s your _abuelo?”_ Javi asks. “You guys visited him the other day, right?”

Gabe nods. “Yeah, we did. He’s doing alright, I guess. We brought the box of tapes you gave me, and played a few games of dominoes with him. Pipo really seemed to enjoy himself while we were there.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Javi says, just as Clementine brings their drinks.

“Ready to order?” Clementine asks the two.

“Yeah. I’ll have a cheeseburger with fries,” Gabe replies.

“A cup of the chicken noodle soup for me, as well as the house salad,” Javi says.

“What kind of dressing would you like?” Clementine asks.

“Vinaigrette, but on the side, please.”

“Alrighty then,” Clementine says as she jots down their orders on a small notepad. “I’ll be right back with your food.” She takes her leave.

“Salad?” Gabe gawks at his uncle incredulously. “Really, Javi? We’re celebrating and you’re gonna eat _salad?”_

“You’re seventeen,” Javi remarks. “You’ve got the metabolism of a cheetah. You can practically eat anything you want and get away with it.” Javi points to himself as he says, “Not so much when you’re nearing thirty.”

“Wow, you’re old.”

Javi snorts before chuckling. “Just watch, kid. You’ll be thirty yourself before you even know it.”

“Hmm. No thanks,” Gabe replies, shaking his head. “I’ll take ‘Never Growing Up’ for $500, please.”

“But you grew up so fast, though,” Javi points out. “It only feels like yesterday that I was changing your diapers.”

“Dad said something like that to me last week.”

“Go figure. You’re graduating high school this year, aren’t you?”

“Yup.” Gabe nods.

“How’s your senior year going so far?” Javi asks.

“It’s not so bad,” Gabe replies. “I’m taking AP World History. Oh, and I also joined the History Bowl team.”

“Look at you, smartie pants.” Javi nudges at his arm from across the table. “I think that’s great, Gabe. I wish I was more studious when I was your age.”

“What did you do in your senior year?” Gabe questions. “Well, aside from dating the head cheerleader, that is.”

Javi chuckles. “Skipped class and played baseball,” Javi replies, shaking his head. “I’m surprised I even graduated, honestly.”

"Nice," Gabe remarks playfully. “So, uh, five years, right?” he asks.

“Five years,” Javi repeats. “God, I was a completely different person back then.”

“Is it weird that I sort of still remember the headlines you made?” Gabe briefly recalls the surges of pride -- and embarrassment -- he felt at seeing his uncle’s name plastered on newspapers and on the internet.

“The good headlines or the bad ones?” Javi asks.

“Both,” Gabe admits.

Javi chuckles. “No, it’s not weird at all. I admit, I’ve done plenty of newsworthy things. Both brilliant and stupid.” Javi shakes his head, sighing. Whether out of regret or reminiscence, Gabe is not so sure.

“Do you miss baseball?” Gabe asks quietly.

“Everyday,” Javi admits. “But I wouldn’t trade it for what I have now. I’ve taken responsibility for myself. I’m in control of my life. I’ve gotten better, and I’m continuing to get better.” His uncle meets his gaze with a wide smile. “I’m happy.”

Gabe smiles back. “I’m glad. By the way, do people still recognize you?”

“Not as much as before, actually,” Javi replies. “Must be the beard.”

“Wish I could grow one,” Gabe says, frowning as he rubs a hand over his own beardless face.

“Maybe one day,” Javi responds. “But your dad could never grow a beard, so I doubt it.” He laughs. “Sorry, bud.”

“Let me dream, okay?” Gabe chuckles.

“Just curious,” Javi begins, “but has your dad ever talked about… you know.” Javi pauses, finding the right words. “All the shenanigans I was up to before I started recovering?”

“Not really,” Gabe responds. “He only said that you gambled a lot and drank too much. Never really went into the details. He... also said to never be like you.” Gabe winces when the words leave his mouth.

Javi shrugs indifferently. “Well, he’s not wrong. Back then, if I wasn’t at the casino, I was at the bar.”

“Well, you got better,” Gabe points out, frowning. “That’s what matters now, right?”

Javi smiles. “I really appreciate it, Gabe. And as much as that means a lot,” Javi says, “your dad is right.”

“If you’re about to give me a ‘don’t drink’ or ‘don’t gamble’ lecture, I’ve probably heard it.” Gabe remarks playfully.

“I imagine your dad has told you countless of times.” Javi grins wryly. “But serious talk.” He clasps his hands together. “The reason why I did all that was -- well, I didn’t realize it at the time, but looking back now…” Javi pauses, a hesitant look flashing across his features.

“You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Gabe quietly reassures him.

Javi shakes his head. “It’s okay,” Javi replies. “I just wanted to say that, well, I didn’t like asking for help when things got hard. I refused to. Drinking and gambling… it was how I coped.” Javi sighs. “So, if you ever need help with anything, come talk to me, okay? I’m here for you, Gabe.”

Gabe nods. “Okay. I will. Thanks, Javi.”

Their food arrives shortly after, and they dig in. Gabe doesn’t realize how hungry he is until he takes a bite into his burger, savouring the melted cheese and crisp slices of red onion before practically inhaling his fries.

When they’re finished, Gabe pays for their meals (“Isn’t he _so_ kind?” Javi says pointedly to Clementine, and wiggles his eyebrows at Gabe when she’s not looking. Gabe has half a mind to lunge at his uncle from across the table.)

Gabe drops Javi off at his apartment before he heads home.

“Working overtime today, _mijo?”_ His dad asks when Gabe steps inside the house.

“No, I was just having lunch with Javi,” Gabe replies. “He’s five years sober today.”

“Oh.” His dad makes that mostly unreadable and slightly constipated face he always makes when they’re talking about Javi. But his voice is soft and sincere when he says, “That’s good to know. Tell him my congratulations.”

 _Why not tell him yourself?_ Gabe wants to say. “I’ll let him know,” he says instead before heading to his room.

Gabe crashes onto his bed, feeling his eyelids start to droop heavily (despite the four cups of coffee he’s had today) when his phone beeps.

_Clementine Fitzgerald (2:12 PM): Hey, are you free tomorrow for a study session? Sarah and I will be at the diner. 12pm._

Gabe immediately bolts upright. Shit. Okay. Fuck. Is he free tomorrow at 12:00 PM? Gabe runs through the shape of tomorrow’s day in his head. _No work. Visiting Pipo later in the evening. Will probably just be doing homework and playing video games._

Okay, so he’s free. But how does he reply? What does he say?! _Okay_ is a little too much like _k,_ and _k_ is pretty much code for ‘I don’t care.’ But Gabe _does_ care about History Bowl, but he doesn’t care _so_ much to the point that it’s really weird? What about a thumbs up emoji? _No, it’s practically the same as ‘k.’_ A gif? Playful and friendly enough, but it could also be a little unclear...

 _Dammit. Stop overthinking, Garcia._ Gabe types out a message and sends it before he can give himself another minute to mull over it.

_Gabe Garcia (2:14 PM): Sounds good!! I’ll be there._

(He sends a gif of Keanu Reeves giving a thumbs up for good measure.)

Nailed it.

His phone beeps, signalling a reply from Clementine.

_Clementine Fitzgerald (2:15 PM): Great. See you tomorrow._

Gabe wants to breathe a sigh of relief but finds himself staring at his screen, thumbs hovering over the keypad. He wants to say something more, but talking to girls has never really been his forte.

 _Fuck it. Seize the day._ Gabe types out a reply before he can second guess himself.

_Gabe Garcia (2:16 PM): You off work?_

Seems simple enough.

_Clementine Fitzgerald (2:17 PM): No, I’m on my break._

_Gabe Garcia (2:17 PM): Cool_

“Way to keep the conversation going, Gabe,” he mutters to himself. Just as Gabe is about to put down his phone, his phone beeps again.

_Clementine Fitzgerald (2:18 PM): Your uncle seems really proud of you._

_Clementine Fitzgerald (2:18 PM): Just something I noticed when you guys were here today_

Gabe widens his eyes in surprise. Well. Okay then. Maybe Javi isn’t totally awful, after all...

_Gabe Garcia (2:18 PM): Yeah, Javi and I are really close :)_

_Gabe Garcia (2:19 PM): He’s a really corny guy tbh but I put up with it since he’s family and all :p_

_Clementine Fitzgerald (2:19 PM): I know the feeling. Kenny makes the worst dad jokes but he’s the best so it’s ok :)_

_Clementine Fitzgerald (2:20 PM): Anyways, I need to get back to work. Talk to you later?_

_Gabe Garcia (2:20 PM): Yeah, talk to you later_

_Gabe Garcia (2:20 PM): Have fun at work!!_

_Clementine Fitzgerald (2:21 PM): Haha, I wish :)_

Gabe switches his phone to silent mode, allowing himself a small smile before he curls up on his bed and falls into a nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I actually posted this a few hours ago, but then I woke up in the middle of the night and deleted it since I wasn't completely satisfied with it. I've revised it and now I'm okay with it.)
> 
> Duck's viral video is based off of my favourite video of all time: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=876tE_sgspM
> 
> Follow me at my main blog: 99runecrafting.tumblr.com
> 
> My TWDG sideblog: clementineverett.tumblr.com


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